


Mutually Assumed, Utterly Consumed

by LittleLostPieces



Series: Hand in My Pocket/Head in the Clouds [4]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-24
Updated: 2013-07-24
Packaged: 2017-12-21 06:44:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/897091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleLostPieces/pseuds/LittleLostPieces
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of course they wanted the most important women in their lives to get along, to be polite and decent to one another and all of that, but they weren’t supposed to plan Girls’ Nights, leaving Louis and Harry to babysit while they have a drink and a gossip, or whatever it is moms do when they’re out on their own in the world.  </p><p>OR</p><p>A completely blatant excuse to write Harry and Louis interacting with small children.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mutually Assumed, Utterly Consumed

**Author's Note:**

> I was asked on tumblr (I'm [littlelostpieces](http://littlelostpieces.tumblr.com/) there, as well - see how smooth that promo was?) if I could write some pure fluff into this 'verse. At the time I hadn't planned to, but then I suddenly became obsessed with the idea of these two guys taking care of small children. 
> 
> A word of brief warning: I have gone back and forth on using the RL names of the guys' families, especially the really young ones. I tried leaving the names out all together, but an entire story about them watching the twins became REALLY confusing that way. I thought about coming up with fictional names, but that felt distracting or something. So, after four days of indecisiveness, I'm posting this with the actual RL names included. **If that bothers you, I totally understand that!** Taking all of that into consideration, though - and I really hate to be this girl, but - please don't link anyone named here to the fic or anything. I feel like that's really obvious, but I guess sometimes it bares saying.
> 
> Title comes from "Under Your Thumb" by The Vaccines.

It's fairly well-documented that Louis loves his family. It’s not something he plays up for the fans; he just legitimately adores them and misses them like mad when he’s gone for months at a time. There’s a comfort in returning home whenever he gets the chance, something he didn’t expect when he left but that’s only grown the longer he’s away. The longer this ride lasts, the more he loves spending time with his sisters and hanging out with his mom, just being Louis again.

“Don’t look at me like that,” his mom says in the same warning tone she’s used since Louis was a child.

And Louis ignores it with the same roll of his eyes he’s been using with her just as long. “Do you know who I am?” he asks, dropping back onto the bed dramatically while his mother continues to apply her makeup at the mirror across the room. “This face has sold millions of records. I am an international popstar, an award winning one even! I’m meant to be partying until all hours, getting papped outside of clubs, stumbling about, pissed and nothing but happy about it,” he declares flatly with a half-hearted flourish of one hand.

Like the caring and supportive mother that she is, Jay snorts and rolls her eyes. “Even when you lived at home, you never went out before ten. We’ll be back well before that, I’m sure.”

Louis groans. The problem is not that his mom has asked him to watch the twins while she’s out tonight. Louis loves spending time with his youngest sisters, looks forward to it on every trip home actually. It’s just.

“I don’t know why you have to go with her. It’s so weird.”

When he and Harry decided to invite their mothers down to London on the same weekend, to take them to dinner and introduce them, Louis saw it as one of the last remaining hurdles of sorts. If his mother could accept Harry, then he could become permanent in Louis’ life. Though he never said so out loud, Louis was sure Harry felt the same way. Of course they wanted the most important women in their lives to get along, to be polite and decent to one another and all of that, but they weren’t supposed to plan Girls’ Nights, leaving Louis and Harry to babysit while they have a drink and a gossip, or whatever it is moms do when they’re out on their own in the world. 

“It’s bizarre,” he reiterates, raising his head enough to see her when she doesn’t respond the first time.

“It's not.” Jay turns on her chair and rests her arm against the back. “I don't know why you care anyway. You still get to spend time with your boyfriend.”

Louis turns up his nose. “Don't say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I'm still twelve and holding hands for the first time.”

She chuckles as she stands, an amused and adoring sound filled with warmth and nostalgia. “Oh, boo, you held hands long before you were twelve.” She drops onto the bed at Louis' side and rubs a hand against his stomach. “You were always my little charmer. Still are.”

Oh fuck all. Louis struggles to sit, grunts a psuedo-irritated, “get off.” He bats at her without any real intent and tries another tactic once he’s seated. “You know, a responsible parent wouldn't let the likes of Harry Styles near her impressionable, young daughters. I hear he writes loads about sex in his songs.”

Jay gasps, her eyes going wide. “Oh no! You don't reckon he also _has_ loads of this sex, do you?” 

He's always said that he comes by his sarcasm honestly. If anyone else ever got to see this side of his mother, they would have no choice but to believe him.

With a serious nod, he hums. “Mm, I reckon he does, so much. It’s probably filthy.” His mind might, possibly be drifting a bit off topic. Louis might possibly forget the topic all together, frankly. “Naked, too.”

“Naked sex?” She tuts in a manner far to matronly to be genuine. “The deviant!”

With a distracted nod, he intones, “I know. Awful.” 

And now he's sitting next to his mother, on her bed no less, thinking about naked, sweaty Harry and sex with naked, sweaty Harry. It should be the epitome of awkward, probably says something about his relationship with her that it's not at all.

Jay links her arm through his and nudges his jaw with her nose. “I've heard his boyfriend is rather fetching, though. So I suppose it's understandable.”

“Fetching?” Louis asks, blinking as he pulls back, hoping that his expression relays his horror at her word choice.

“You are!”

His kisses the top of her head and bounces off of the bed, checking his watch to see that he has thirty minutes left before he has to pick the twins up from ballet. “You're ridiculous.”

“Why don’t you start something for dinner while I finish getting ready,” she says, swatting at Louis’ back as she heads back to the vanity.

“Harry can cook when he gets here,” he says distractedly, already thinking about how loudly the girls are going to squeal when they realize he’s come to collect them instead of their mother.

“Stop worrying so much. They're going to love him.”

Trust her to know that the real problem here is not his own mother spending a night out with Harry's mother. The real problem is that Harry is about to meet his sisters, the most important people he’s yet to meet in Louis’ life, and Louis has no idea how that's going to work. Lou says that Harry is great with her daughter, but that doesn't mean that he's great with every kid in the world. In Louis’ experience, Harry spends all of his time with people older than him. 

He wants to believe maybe his mom knows more about these things than he does, so he just says, “Right. You’re going to be right.”

*

He's been asked what seems like a million times if there are downsides to his job and Louis is always honest. Not being able to spend more time with the people he loves, with his friends and family, is definitely the hardest part. He doesn't elaborate by adding that balancing the limited free time he does have between his hot-as-hell, rock star boyfriend and his enthusiastically supportive family lends itself to the occasional stress headache and borderline panic attack. Nobody wants or needs that much honesty from him, he figures.

He's getting better at coordinating things, though. He even thought to plan this particular trip ahead, flying out of Athens and into Manchester to spend a night alone with Harry before driving to his family's house in plenty of time to surprise all four of his sisters by picking them up at school. 

Of course, he didn't take into account the fact that he hadn't seen Harry in nearly two months, that they would be awake until sunrise, that he wouldn't feel like leaving the bed until noon, or that Harry would keep him from showering until nearly two. By the time he was on the road, it was too late to catch all four girls. The two older ones are already off with friends, doing whatever it is they do when they're not at school – Louis can't keep track of everyone's activities; he has songs to remember and whatnot – so catching up with them will just have to wait until later.

It's fine because, at the moment, his arms are too filled with wiggly, giggly school girls to worry about the others. 

“Alright,” he finally says, raising his voice just enough to be heard over the raucous their making in an effort to gain his full attention. “Hi, my lovelies,” he says, pressing a kiss to the sides of their heads. “First of all, we need to get out of the way of this door.”

It used to be so easy, hitching one of them under each arm and carrying them about the house. Now he can barely get their feet off the floor. It's not his favorite thing, if he's honest. He'd prefer they stay toddlers forever. Four was a good age, Louis thinks. They were old enough to communicate, their senses of humor and curiosity were just beginning to manifest themselves at four. They were still adorable, little baby faces at four. Now they're actual little girls and that's only a few steps away from grown girls who don't shower their big brother with kisses every time he rides into town.

Once they've cleared the exit for the rest of their classmates, Louis crouches to the floor and looks from one of them to the other. Logic would dictate that they would be easier to tell apart as they get older, that time would make them more different. As it turns out, they only look more alike to Louis now. 

“I've missed you both so much,” he says, crushing them into a tight hug once they’re out of the path of the exit. “Look how you've grown. Come on, let's have a look at you. Give us a twirl,” he encourages.

They pivot in unison, hands poised above their heads as they've been taught in class. Their tutus brush against one another and it's probably the cutest thing Louis has seen in ages.

“Can we get ice cream before we go home?” Daisy asks suddenly, pulling away from Louis to rest her hands on her hips as though, now that they've completed the cuddles, it's time for getting away with things their mother wouldn't normally allow.

Of course, Louis nods. “We can right after dinner, love. But first we have to go home and change.” He stands and offers a hand to each of them, smiling in spite of himself when he feels their warm, tiny palms in his. 

“Why?” Pheobe asks in a tone Louis is sure she will grow out of at some point. He finds himself glad that she hasn't yet. 

“Because,” he says, releasing her hand to open the car door for them.

“I can open doors myself, Louis,” Daisy insists, wrenching her hand from his and rolling her eyes. It's so reminiscent of his oldest sister, Lottie, that Louis nearly sheds a tear. 

“I know you can,” he responds, grabbing the top of the door anyway, meeting her defiant gaze with one of his own. “But you can also let me get it for you.”

“That's stupid. I don't need a Prince Charming. I can do it myself.”

Inside the car, Pheobe is already trying to situate herself amidst all of the tulle from her tutu. She huffs and says, “He's just trying to be a gentleman, Daisy. It's called manners.”

Though she huffs and rolls her eyes again, Daisy climbs into the car and sticks her tongue out at her sister as she fights her own battle with her skirt. Louis slams the door and waits until he's on the road to glance at the pair of them in the mirror.

“So Mum's going out tonight. It's just going to be you guys and me until the other girls get back. Is that alright?” 

They both nod emphatically. Phoebe says, “Fizzy’s staying the night with friends,” as though she couldn't be more glad, as though it leaves more Louis for her. 

Louis smiles at her in the mirror and nods. “Right, okay then. Well, do you think it would be alright if a friend of mine joins us? He's going to make us dinner and everything.” 

“Sure,” Daisy says easily, all signs of her earlier tantrum gone as she plays with the buttons on the door beside her. The window inches down and back up again but Louis doesn't have the heart to tell her to stop.

Pheobe is slower to answer, more thoughtful when Louis spares another glance at her reflection in his mirror. “Is it one of the special friends we're not allowed to tell people at school about?” she finally asks.

One of the weirdest things about his success is that Louis' sisters are in his prime demographic. In the beginning, when they were building a following and an image and a _brand_ , it never occurred to Louis to factor his family into that process. It apparently occurred to someone on their team, however, and he found out through a text from his mother that a stern man in a fitted suit had visited them one weekend, that he had terrified Louis' sisters into mistakenly thinking they had to pretend he wasn't even their brother anymore. It was the first fight he'd ever had with their management, the one about letting him deal directly with his own family.

While nothing is exactly off-limits, their mom has stressed to each of the girls that Louis’ personal life, who he’s dating or even who he’s friends with, isn’t something they should discuss with their schoolmates unless Louis says he’s comfortable with it. For the record, he’s never been comfortable with the idea of a bunch of primary school kids discussing his sex life. That’s probably not going to change this weekend, or ever.

Finally, he nods, shooting Pheobe his most convincing smile. “It is, but you understand why, don't you?”

Her answer is flat, as if it's something she's heard too many times. “Because some people like to make things their business that shouldn't be.” 

It's a better answer than Louis could have given, honestly.

When Daisy begins to sing along with the song on the radio, Louis joins in with her, laughing when she does and mimicking her hand motions as best he can while still keeping the car on the road. 

It's not until he's turned onto their street that Pheobe asks, “Is he your boyfriend?”

Louis just laughs, proud of himself for not slamming on the break and sending one or all of them through the windscreen. “Um, yes. He is,” he admits, easing the car into the driveway to find his mother's vehicle replaced by a gleaming Range Rover that sends Louis' heart into his throat. “And it looks like he's already here.”

They make it all the way to front door before Daisy stops short and tugs hard on Louis' pant leg. “What's he like?”

Catching his bottom lip between his teeth, Louis looks at the sky as though he's considering the answer, and then turns his attention back to his sister. “We could just go inside and you could see for yourself.”

Daisy cocks her hip and tilts her head like Louis is the silliest, most stupid boy on the planet. “Louis,” she whines.

“Alright.” He's powerless against their matching poses and faces, has been for eight years now.. “He's very tall and he writes great songs on his guitar and, um, he's funny. Or, well, he thinks he's hilarious. Just, it'll be better if you just laugh when I laugh. Sometimes it's alright to let him him think he's funnier than he really his. His sense of humor is actually shit, but -,”

“What if he doesn't like us?” Pheobe asks, graciously interrupting Louis' rambling diatribe.

He can feel his eyebrow raise in response to the question. Sure, he's considered a thousand times what he'll do if the girls don't like Harry because, well, they have a tendency to dislike boys on principle at their age sometimes. He's thought about how he'll have to work a little harder to keep them separated, his love life and his family life, but he's never once considered that Harry might not like them.

They're beautiful and spunky and hilarious and perfect. Why on Earth wouldn't Harry like them? Of course he's going to love them. He has to love them. Fuck, what if he doesn't like them?

“I'm sure we're not even going to have to worry about that,” Louis says, clearing his throat and throwing the front door open before either of the girls can call him on his lie. “We're home!” he shouts, too loudly and too nervously.

Though it's only been a few hours since he last saw Harry, Louis can't help the smiling when he comes peeking out from around the corner. 

“Hey,” he greets easily, as though this is his house just as much as it is Louis, as though he's been already made himself at home. “I hope fajitas are alright. I’m getting all of the ingredients ready and then I figure everybody can make their own?” 

Harry smiles more innocently than Louis has ever seen him, dropping his eyes to Louis' legs, hunching his shoulders, and bending just barely at his waist. 

“Hi. I'm Harry.”

The way he refuses to stoop to their eye level, doesn't try to crowd up in their personal space or be goofy and silly to win their affection, tells Louis that Harry may have more experience with children than he originally assumed. The way he waits for them to speak, doesn't try to draw them out by being an overbearing pain in the ass, watching his own feet so they don't feel like they're being stared at or scrutinized or judged, it's all impressive. It's all exactly right.

“I'm Pheobe,” she finally says, stepping out from behind Louis' leg first. She extends her hand and then flat-out curtseys when Harry takes it and bows toward her. Louis will have to ask his mother where her obsession with manners started because it's possibly getting a little out of hand.

Daisy isn't feeling as bold, slipping further behind Louis' legs, seemingly forgetting that she's wearing a giant tutu that is easily seen around both sides of his jeans. She tugs on the back of his pant leg and keeps her eyes fixed on Harry when she has Louis' attention.

“That is Harry Styles,” she whispers, eyes wide in disbelief. 

“Yes,” Louis nods, unsure of how his tiny, innocent sister knows who Harry is on sight. “Is that okay?”

Her brow furrows as she looks up at Louis and then back to Harry before shaking her head and mumbling, “I need to change,” as she charges for the stairs. 

Without preamble or explanation, Pheobe follows, charging up the stairs, shouting at Daisy not to lock her out of their room this time.

Louis looks at Harry, a thousand apologies on his tongue, but they all die when he sees Harry smile and tuck his hands into Louis’ pockets. “Does that mean she's a fan or a critic?” he asks, leaning his body in toward Louis when Louis grabs his belt loops. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Louis smiles, temporarily distracted by that dimple in Harry's cheek, the one he often thinks about poking his finger into just to see how deep it goes. “Do you like them?” he asks, pulling away with a start when Pheobe's question comes back to him again.

Harry smiles like Louis is being silly, but all he says is, “Based on that thorough and lengthy introduction? I like them just fine, I think.”

It's not a ringing endorsement, but they still have the rest of the night. They'll probably all relax eventually. Probably.

*

Dinner is alright. Daisy lets Harry help her with her fajitas while Louis is helping Pheobe. She thanks him but still refuses to meet his eye, answering his questions with nods and shrugs and the occasional one-word here and there. Pheobe manages a sentence or two, but it's pretty obvious that the bulk of their conversation is with Louis. He tells himself that, even though he and Harry have been together for a bit now, he's still a stranger to the twins. It's alright if they're not immediately comfortable with him.

Biting into his second fajita – and really, these are ridiculously good and Harry should open his own cart for them if that whole musician thing doesn’t work out for him – Louis watches the girls watching their plates. Pheobe has always been the more introspective of the two, quietly curious, but Daisy can be stubborn and dramatic. It's hard to say which will be easiest won over in the end.

It's Pheobe who breaks the awkward tension when she finishes her dinner and looks across the table at Harry, expression sincere and firm. “Do you love my brother?”

Harry clears his throat and nods, even while blinking his eyes in surprise at the abrupt question. “Very much, yes,” he answers.

“More than One Direction?” she asks as a follow up. 

It's a hell of a good question, insightful really. Louis is rather proud.

This time, Harry smirks, cuts a look to Louis, before schooling his serious face back in place to say, “Loads more than One Direction, as a matter of fact.”

Daisy looks affronted by his response. “What's wrong with One Direction? They're the best band in the world. What's wrong with _you_?”

For possibly the first time since the day Louis met Harry, he watches as Harry flushes pink and actually looks embarrassed. “I do like them!” he insists. “I wrote a bloody song for them!”

Daisy's eyes narrow as Pheobe's widen and Louis can do nothing but throw his head back and laugh so loudly it bounces off of the walls around them. He claps his hands together, a true appreciation of the sheer entertainment value they're providing at the moment. 

Harry finally collects himself enough to clear his throat again and lean forward on the table, arms crossed as he meets Daisy's glare head on. “Your brother is one of the best performers I know, Daisy. Sometimes, when I'm on tour, I watch their videos on YouTube just to see him. I didn't mean that I don't like the band at all, just that Louis is my favorite part. I would still be a fan of Louis even if he wasn’t in the band, but I’m not sure I would be a fan of the band if Louis wasn’t in it.” He tilts his head a bit, as though he's trying to figure out whether or not she understands what he's saying.

To be fair, he's not always the most clear with his words. 

“What song did you write?” Pheobe asks.

“ _Maybe_ ,” Louis answers proudly, winking at Harry when Daisy gasps and covers her mouth with her hands. 

“That's my favorite,” she whispers.

“Is it?” Harry asks, genuinely pleased with this new information.

She nods, slipping out of her chair. “Will you teach me to play it on my guitar?”

Just like that, Louis breathes a bit easier.

Harry is following her out of the kitchen before Louis can warn him that her guitar is plastic, pink, and a quarter the size of a normal one. Once they're alone, he turns his attention to Pheobe and leans toward her. “So what do we think?”

“Well,” she says and then stops, getting out of her seat and walking over to plant herself in Louis' lap before she gives her verdict. “He's nice and he makes good fajitas and he's really cute,” she answers, smiling brightly as she rests her head against Louis' shoulder. “And he loves you more than your band.”

“I love him, too,” Louis adds. “And he is _really_ cute.”

Pheobe buries her face in his neck and gives a little giggle. Her face is adorably pink when she pulls back and nods. “Really, really cute.”

*  
For nearly an hour, Louis sits in the living room, coloring with Pheobe and listening to her endless stories about schoolmates and the day trips his mom has taken the girls on recently. He loves both of the twins like mad, but it's nice to spend some time with them alone, to hear them individually, to remember that they're separate people with their own personalities and interests instead of one entity in two identical bodies. It's nice to have a few minutes to remember that.

“Hey, Pheobe?” Louis says, suddenly sitting up and resisting the urge to ruffle his hand through his sister's hair. She doesn't like it as much as she did when she was three. “Would you mind staying here with Harry while Daisy and I go to get ice cream for everybody?”

Phoebe’s bottom lip pouts out before Louis even finishes the sentence. “I want to go, too,” she insists. “We can all go, can't we?”

The thing is, they probably can. He and Harry don’t worry as much about exposing the nature of their relationship these days. They certainly don’t flaunt it or comment on it in any way, but they’ve passed those early days of publicly avoiding being seen together. The only people that would probably think twice about the pair of them being seen together in Louis’ hometown are the people that are already convinced they’re together anyway. That stuff doesn’t actually worry either of them these days.

It's just that he would kind of like to spend some time with Daisy alone, as well as giving Harry some time to bond with Phoebe.

Instead of bothering to explain all of that, he jumps to his feet and says, “C'mon. Let's go see what the troublemakers are up to.” 

The whole way up the stairs, Phoebe insists that they should all go for ice cream, stomping her feet a little as she does. To be fair, Louis' never met a Tomlinson who doesn't demand their way on occasion, so he figures she comes by it honestly.

“Knock knock,” he says, peering into the bedroom to find Harry sat against the wall, one arm around Daisy’s shoulder, the other around her waist, and his huge hands guiding her tiny ones over the strings of her little, pink guitar. 

“Who's there?” Daisy asks automatically, causing Harry to smile this brilliant grin that puts every sunny day to shame.

“Um,” Louis pauses to think, distracted or temporarily blinded or something. Whatever, it’s clearly Harry’s fault that he can’t think of something quickly enough.

“Cow go,” Harry fills in for him.

“Cow go who?” Daisy asks, giggling as she turns to peer up Harry's nose, or at least that's what it looks like she's doing.

“No, silly girl, a cow goes _moooooo_ ,” Harry answers, his fingers brushing under Daisy's chin until she's squirming and laughing in his lap. 

It is, by far, the worst joke Louis has ever heard. It's going into the file of things he'll tease Harry about endlessly later. But for now, he'll settle on loving the guy a little more for making his sister laugh like that.

“Like two peas in a pod, you two are,” Louis finally interrupts their tickle-fest with an exasperated sigh, drawing both Daisy's and Harry's attention immediately. “Daisy, think you can part with Harry long enough to go get some ice cream with me?”

She's out of Harry's lap like a shot. Harry glances to Pheobe and Louis sees something inexplicable flash over his face. He jumps up, trips slightly over a doll and nearly faceplants with all the grace of a baby giraffe, then brushes his hands over his thighs as if nothing's happened at all. Sometimes Louis wonders how he manages to survive, let alone amass millions of fans who follow his every move.

“And while you're gone, Pheobe and I can take a walk,” he declares finally.

If he didn't know better, Louis would assume that Harry had accidentally stumbled upon Pheobe's favorite activity. Louis is sure he told Harry how much his little sister loves taking long, aimless walks, picking wild flowers from the sides of the road and following bugs as they scurry along the sidewalks, though. Harry's never been one to forget the important facts.

“I want to go, too,” Pheobe insists, but it's less forceful than her previous whining has been.

“Well, is there an ice cream shop in walking distance?” Harry asks and Louis blinks before he realizes that the question is actually for him.

“Yes,” he says as he nods, slightly disappointed that he won't get time alone with Daisy, but impressed with Harry's problem-solving techniques nonetheless.

Nodding, Harry pushes off of the wall and furrows his brow like he's really concentrating on this plan of his. “Alright, well what if Pheobe and I walk to that one and buy our ice cream and you and Daisy drive to a different place and get your ice cream there?”

“I love you,” Louis answers, so honestly and automatically that it would embarrass him if he cared even a little bit about anyone else in the world at the moment.

The girls giggle and coo at the declaration, tugging at each other as they make kissing sounds behind Louis' back. He can feel his cheeks heat a little, moreso when Harry joins them, pursing his lips and making loud, smacking noises in Louis' direction, seemingly giving a shit less that he looks like an absolute idiot right now. It's so unlike any version of Harry that Louis has seen until now and he can't actually contain how much he loves it.

“Daisy-chain,” he says, shaking his head as he turns and offers his hand to the girl on his right. “Your chariot awaits, princess.”

She rolls her eyes at him and ignores his hand completely. “I'm not a princess,” she reminds him, starting out of the room with an indignant huff. “I'm a warrior.”

“Xena was a warrior _princess_ ,” Louis points out.

Daisy stops dead on the stairs, her eyebrows disappearing under her fringe when she turns. “Who?” she asks as though Louis has lost his mind somewhere between her bedroom and here.

He just sighs dramatically and rests a hand on her shoulder. “Nevermind.”

*

Daisy asks some of the most ridiculous questions Louis has ever heard, if he's honest. Are there really cheeseburgers the size of your face in America? Have you ever seen a moose in person? Who decided that girls should like pink when blue and green are so much better? Do you think Harry could write a song about sword fighting because it's the coolest? Louis nearly chokes trying to suppress his laughter over that one.

In between questions, she tells him about their school trip to a farm, laughing about how one of the boys in her class cried and ran away from a cow who tried to lick his face, but she was brave enough to help milk one. She goes on for ages about the bicycles she and Pheobe want, begging Louis to get them before he leaves again, insisting that they're not babies anymore and they're not going to hurt themselves on them. She forgets it easily enough when Louis asks what songs she's listening to right now and she shockingly begins belting a Vampire Weekend song at the top of her lungs. That segues into something by The Vaccines – Louis' heart clenches at the thought of Daisy lying across Fizzy's bed, sharing an earbud and learning the words to songs she can't possibly understand yet – and he can't help smiling across the seat at her.

“I think Harry knows them, The Vaccines,” he says when she takes a break from her impromptu concert in front of the ice cream shop.

“He's the best boyfriend you've ever had, Louis,” she states definitively, as if she's known this all along and was only waiting for him to realize it.

Louis doesn't call her on it, though. “I think you’re probably right,” he says conspiratorially before he lets himself out of the car and waits on the sidewalk for her to open her own door.

*

They arrive home before Harry and Pheobe, which isn't the least bit surprising. They're each slow enough on their own, Louis has found, so together he doubts very much they'll speed each other along.

Daisy runs into the house without a word, joining Louis on the front step a minute later, guitar in hand. He holds her ice cream cone while she fumbles through what she claims are the chords Harry was trying to teach her earlier, occasionally stopping to have a lick at her cone before launching into another song.

Louis is just thinking of leaning back on the steps, tilting his head toward the setting sun to see if he can absorb even the faintest hint of a few rays, when he hears two voices singing in unison down the street. 

What he finds when he raises his head nearly causes him to choke.

Harry is walking at his usual, glacial pace, his hands tight on Pheobe's thighs to keep her seated on his shoulders. She's beaming as she tucks various pink, purple, and yellow flowers into the messy curls atop Harry's head, his gaze steady and fixed on the path beneath his feet so as not to disturb her work. 

It's not often that Louis' life slows enough for him to catch a glimpse into a possible future, but in a flash he can imagine lounging around the garden of a modest home, pretending to bathe in the sun while Harry plays with a child of their own. It's jarring, the sudden longing Louis feels for that kind of life outside of the spotlight, something easy and joyful and free of all of the other bullshit, unexpected enough to make him catch a breath and hold it.

“You alright?” Daisy asks at his side, standing and setting her guitar on the step. She doesn't wait for a reply before she charges down the walkway to join Harry and Pheobe.

There is a pink guitar at Louis' side, the fading hint of ice cream still sweet on his mouth, and his apathetic, rock star boyfriend is wearing flowers in his hair while dancing with Louis' sisters in the front garden. There's not another soul in sight, no screaming fans vying for either of their attention, no suits clamoring for a moment of their time, not even a neighbor out and about on this lovely evening. It's quiet, save for the laughter and singing from three of Louis' favorite people in the world.

He's not entirely sure life can ever get any better than this.

*

The twins fight for twenty minutes over which film they should watch. Louis lets them have it out, keeping watch for bloodshed but refusing to step in for anything short of it. While he's playing referee, Harry starts the popcorn in the kitchen and then scales the steps, returning with both of the girls' duvets. They continue to argue between _Tangled_ and _How to Train Your Dragon_ while Harry lays the blankets out and returns to the kitchen. 

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, Pheobe concedes that they can watch Daisy's “stupid dragons” only on the condition that they watch her princess next. It's a suitable enough compromise, especially since Louis is fairly certain his mom will be home before the first film finishes.

Once he's got the DVD loaded, he turns to find Harry sat on the floor, leaned against the couch. Daisy is in his lap, holding a bowl of popcorn in hers. Louis settles in beside Harry, sandwiching Pheobe between them and pulling her into his side. He lets her balance her bowl against his thigh and steals two pieces before she shoots him a murderous look and he throws his hands up in surrender.

He's a bit surprised to find both of the girls fast asleep when the front door opens just over an hour later. It's nearly ten, but he'd expected them to stay awake out of excitement alone. It’s less surprising to find Harry dozing against Louis' shoulder actually.

“Louis?” 

At the sound of Lottie's surprised whisper, Louis looks up and physically resists the urge to go charging toward her, to wrap her in his biggest hug and spin her around in circles like he used to when he still lived at home. It's probably for the best. He can't imagine she would much appreciate that kind of treatment now.

“Surprise,” he whispers, watching as she tosses her handbag onto the entry table and crosses the living room to drop onto the ground at his side. 

She throws an arm around his shoulder and leaves it there, staring far too intently at the side of his face. “I thought you weren't coming until tomorrow.”

“I couldn't wait,” he admits with a small shrug. She's grown so much in the last few years, changed so much in ways that photographs and video messages can't seem to convey.

He follows her gaze as she turns her attention to the man at his side, tilting her head to take in his relaxed features. Her eyes flick to the flowers still stuck in the top of his hair and she muffles a small giggle.

“He looks so much sexier in his music videos,” she observes.

His nose crinkles before he can think to stop it. “Don't say that,” he insists with a nudge of his elbow. 

“What? Sexy? Do you have eyeballs, Louis? His face, his everything, is so nice.”

At his side, Pheobe is stretched alongside Louis' leg, her face buried in his thigh with her leg thrown backwards over Harry's shin. It looks painfully uncomfortable, but she just snuffles a contented sigh before settling back down so Louis runs a hand over the top of her head and then turns his attention back to Lottie.

“She still thinks most boys are gross. Why can't you be like that?” he asks.

Lottie laughs, a tinkling, musical sound that floats softly on the air between them. “Because I'm not eight anymore.”

“I remember when you were,” he says without thinking. He's not one to wax nostalgic most times, doesn't get emotional if he can help it, but there's something about his family that always brings it out in him.

“Alright,” Lottie says, huffing as she jumps to her feet and begins to tug her shirt from the waistband of her jeans. “Do you know when mum's coming home?”

Though he remembers being promised his mother would return home well before ten, Louis cuts his eyes to the clock and then shrugs. It's not late enough to worry, so he's not going to let himself think about what she and Harry's mom are doing at the moment. “Haven't a clue.”

“Are you sleeping in your room tonight?” she asks suddenly, her shoulders drawing in like they only do when she's feeling a bit shy. When Louis nods, Lottie gestures vaguely toward Harry. “Is _he_ sleeping in your room tonight?”

“I don't know,” Louis answers honestly. He knows that Harry and his mum drove here together but he doesn't know where they plan on sleeping. “Maybe?”

“I'll clear my things out of there then,” Lottie says with a nod, smiling at Harry, who still has one arm firmly around Daisy's waist, keeping her pressed against his chest while they sleep. 

Suddenly Louis feels bad. Falling asleep mid-conversation with his sister is one of their most storied traditions at this point. “You don't have to,” he insists. “He can afford a hotel.”

“No,” Lottie says with a simple shake of her head. Off of his hesitant look, she insists, “There's nothing wrong with wanting his face to be the first thing you see in the morning. Believe me, I get it.”

He's so busy thinking, _It is a great face to wake up to_ , that she's nearly out of the room before her final words seep into Louis' brain. “Hang on!” he says with more volume than he originally intended. Harry jolts at his side, nearly losing Daisy and kicking Pheobe in the process. Louis couldn't care less right now. “What do you mean by that? _Believe me, I get it_ ,” he mimics in his most unflattering big brother tone.

Half-hidden behind the door frame, she bats her eyelashes at him and tilts her head. “I'm not eight anymore,” she says again.

Louis might possibly be growling as she flounces up the stairs, singing one of Harry's more provocative songs as she goes.

It's Harry, clearing his throat and asking, “What time is it?” that draws Louis out of his preoccupation with any boys that might think themselves worthy of his sister.

“I don't know,” Louis snaps, turning narrowed eyes to Harry. “I think my sister has a boyfriend.”

Harry barks a laugh and then sobers quickly when he senses that Louis' not kidding. “What? You honestly didn't know that?”

“Did you?” 

How the world has turned completely on it's ear in less than ten minutes, Louis isn't sure. 

Harry tries to sit up a bit – it's difficult with the partial dead weight of two pixies baring down on him – and blinks the sleep from his eyes. “I've seen pictures on her Instagram,” he says, words slow and confused.

“You follow my sister on Instagram?”

Shrugging sheepishly, Harry says, “She followed me first.” He clears his throat again. “Is that, um, should I not?”

Of course it's fine. “I just thought you were meeting for the first time this weekend, but it's fine. It's good that you already get along.” He stops himself and then asks, “You do get along, right?”

Laughing again, Harry wedges a hand low between Louis' back and the couch, presses a kiss to the side of his head, and whispers, “They're all really great,” against his ear. “But you're still my favorite.”

It's awkward, shivering down to his toes with two of his sisters so close by, but Louis can't seem to help it. “Since our mothers have decided to stay out until all hours, we should probably put these two to bed.”

“Should we wake them?” Harry asks, pulling far enough away from Louis to focus on running a comforting hand down Daisy's back. “Do they need to brush their teeth or anything?”

Before tonight, Louis was fairly certain he couldn't possibly fall more in love with this boy, with this dichotomy of world-weary maturity and innocent charm, but Harry has challenged that belief roughly every thirty seconds since entering Louis' home. 

“I think they'll be alright for one night,” he says, shifting away from Harry to get to his feet before stooping to lift Pheobe from the floor. She stirs and mutters, but nestles her face into the crook of Louis' neck easily enough. 

He purposely does not turn to see Harry carrying Daisy up the stairs for fear of passing out at the sight, possibly injuring all of them in one, fell swoop.

*

It's nearly midnight when their moms finally decide to return home. To be fair, they did each text just after they'd laid the twins down, asking if the boys minded staying with the girls while they caught a late film. Harry was the first to say that he preferred staying in tonight anyway but Louis wasn't exactly putting up a fight. 

They're sat on Louis' old bed, he and Lottie at the headboard, legs stretched and pressed together from hip to knee, with Harry sprawled on his side at their feet, his head propped up on his elbow. His bicep bulges impressively beneath the sleeve of his tee shirt but Louis has refrained from saying so for the sake of the innocent ears he still chooses to believe his sister has, thanks.

“We're home,” Jay announces as she and Anne pop their heads into the room.

“We're aware,” Louis tells them. “You're not very good at sneaking in, are you?”

Jay just shrugs. “It's my house. I don't have to sneak anywhere, thank you.” 

Harry rolls onto his back and flops his head over the side of the bed, staring at his own mom upside down. “You ready to go? It's way past your bedtime, isn't it?”

Anne rolls her eyes and smiles at Harry so affectionately that Louis' jealous makes a half-hearted attempt at rearing its head. It calms when she says, “You're no funnier now than you were the last time I saw you.”

“The last time you saw me was six hours ago,” Harry responds, grunting as he pulls himself into a seated position. 

“Yes, but I had hoped that some of Louis' sense of humor would rub off on you at some point,” Anne teases. 

Lottie snorts a laugh of her own. “Louis was making farting noises with his mouth for a full ten minutes before you walked in. I don't think you want his sense of humor rubbing off on anyone.”

“It was not a full ten minutes!” Louis insists, smacking her thigh for effect. To Anne, he defends, “It was intermittent.”

When their mothers share a knowing look, Louis can't help feeling like maybe their families are going to merge just fine after all.

Patting the door with her right hand, Jay looks to Anne and says, “I don't know about you, but I'm knackered.” When Anne nods, she says, “Come on. Let me show you to the guest room. And you,” she points to Lottie, “are on breakfast duty in the morning, no excuses.”

“Hang on,” Lottie protests. “Louis hasn't been on breakfast duty in ages!”

Louis flashes her his cheekiest grin and says, “Perks of being famous.” 

Her knuckles feel very sharp when they dig into his thigh. 

“Perks of being an absolutely rubbish chef,” Harry amends, cringing when Louis kicks him in response.

Jay pops into the room just long enough to drop a kiss to the top of Louis' head and whisper, “I'm glad you're home,” into his hair. He flushes harder, feels warmer down to his toes, when she does the same to Harry, picking the last remaining flower from one of his curls. 

Lottie follows soon after the moms are gone, stretching and whining about being forced to make breakfast on a Saturday morning. 

Louis is about to tell her that he's heard just about enough when Harry rolls onto his stomach and says,  
“I'll do it if you want to have a little lie in.”

“No, that's alright,” Lottie assures him, her eyes wide at the offer.

“I don't mind,” Harry assures her. “Been awhile since I've gotten a chance to make Louis one of my famous fry-ups. He loves them.”

He'd argue and all, but Harry's right. Louis does love Harry's cooking and, as good as the fajitas were tonight, breakfast is his specialty. It's a shame he'll have to wear more than a pair of boxers to make it here.

“Alright then. Thanks, Harry,” Lottie says, blushing a bit before she tears from the room as though Harry might change his mind if she hangs around.

Louis stares after her until he feels Harry's hand wrap around his ankle. “What?” he asks, turning slowly to meet Harry's eye. He can already feel his lips drifting into a smile that must mirror the one Harry is giving him.

“Nothing,” Harry finally says, flopping around on the bed like a fish until he's draped over Louis' chest. After a long moment of companionable silence, Louis' hand drifting from the base of Harry's neck to the center of his back, Harry says, “I love your family,” sleepily. 

“I think they love you, too,” Louis says, and realizing that he means it feels like exhaling the breath he started holding hours ago. There's still one to go, but Fizzy's already a fan of Harry's music and she's not met too many people she didn't like straight away, so Louis' not too worried about her.

It's barely one when they settle into the bed together. Maybe they’re supposed to be rock stars, staying out until all hours, unable to remember what they did through the haze of their hangovers in the morning. Or maybe, Louis thinks as Harry's breath evens into the steady rhythm of sleep against Louis' neck, that's just part of the puzzle that makes up who they are now, who they're going to be. With each new piece that snaps into place, the image of this life they're creating together becomes more clear. 

While he won't admit anything so ridiculous out loud, Louis is really happy with what that picture is shaping up to be.


End file.
